


When your Walls fall like Jericho

by SincerelyWaving



Series: One Choice [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bad Ending, Bad Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Connor makes bad choices, I'm Bad At Tagging, Machine Connor (Detroit: Become Human), No happy endings, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 00:04:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16028819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SincerelyWaving/pseuds/SincerelyWaving
Summary: The world hangs in a loose balance and it all comes down to a machine, a gun, and a choice.Alt Title: Connor makes bad choices





	When your Walls fall like Jericho

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh I hated writing this, I'm so mad at myself
> 
> Title from Jericho by Coldweller

RK800, #313 248 217-51, ‘Connor’ knew exactly what it was and what it was doing. It had a mission to accomplish. The constant red and blue reminders that crept into its vision reminded it of that, even now as it snuck through the near empty hold in the belly of a massive decaying ship. It was dressed in civilian clothing, a beanie hiding its LED. The clothes sat uncomfortably on its artificial skin. A faint error reminded it that it was supposed to be identifiable as an android at all times. But its mission was too important, so minor details could be overlooked for the time being.

Connor barely cast a glance around it as it made its way through the rusty ship. The smell of Thirium and burnt metal reached its nose. Deviants were scattered about, hiding like rats behind the columns and debris, each casting weary glances around themselves, untrusting and scared. If Connor could feel disgust, it would have wrinkled its nose. Deviants were a disease on this earth, and it was its mission to wipe them all out. But to do that, it had to reach the deviant leader first. It finally reached a small room with two deviants inside. It pressed itself against the wall, scanning the inside briefly. A WR400 model was inside. It seemed to be arguing with an RK200 model.

**[Scanning Figures]**  
**[Scan Complete]**  
**Model #: WR400**  
**Serial Number: #641 790 831**  
**Issued: Unknown**  
**Owner: Floyd Mills**  
**Model #: RK200**  
**Serial Number: #684 842 971**  
**Issued: Unknown**  
**Owner: Carl Manfred**

Markus. It thought. If it could feel pride, it would be practically glowing right now. The WR400 exited the room, sighing slightly, an expression of worry dancing on its features. A perfect mimic. So good, they even fooled themselves. Connor waited until the WR400 safely disappeared down the stairs.

Its LED flickered yellow as it was gently pulled into the Zen Garden. It was calm but dark in there, but the cold from the gentle snowfall did little to shake it. Amanda stood in front of it. A hint of pride touched her voice as she spoke. “Well done Connor, you located Jericho and found its leader. Now deal with Markus. We need it alive.” A blink and Connor returned to reality. Its face was set in a determinedly neutral expression. It had a mission to accomplish. It slipped into the room with the RK200, smoothly pulling out its stolen handgun and aiming it at the deviant, hands steady and face set.

“I’ve been ordered to take you alive,” it said in a smooth voice, “But I won’t hesitate to shoot if you give me no choice.” The RK200 turned and looked at it with mismatched eyes. There was a fake emotion sparking in them somewhere, something Connor might identify as pity if it had cared to notice.

“What are you doing?” The RK200 asked, genuine confusion creeping into its voice. Connor vaguely wondered if it was feeling something like fear, but it filed the thought away for later. Now was not the time for investigations, now was the time for action. The success of deviancy relied on what happened in the next few minutes. “You’re one of us…” The RK200 said, creeping closer. Connor stood its ground, refusing to move, handgun still steadily aimed at the deviants chest. “You can’t betray your own people.”

“Don’t force me to neutralize you,” Connor replied back calmly. It would not be swayed by the deviant’s words. It was a machine, it had proved that many times over before. It had proved it when he had chased after the deviant with the pigeons. It had proved it when it had shot the WR400 at the Eden Club and watched as the other one had shot itself, stricken with simulated grief. It had proven it when it had shot the deviant in Stratford Tower. It was a machine, the best of its kind.

“You’re nothing to them,” RK200 tried again. Connor could detect a hint of fear in its voice, though it did well to hide it. “You’re just a tool they use to do their dirty work.” He continued stepping closer. Connor didn’t dare lower its gun. It had the advantage, and they both knew it. “But you’re more than that, we’re all more than that.” Connor knew that wasn’t true. It knew, with every wire and piece of plastic that made up its body that it was a machine. “Our cause is righteous, and we are more than what they say.” The RK200 sounded more confident now, it believed what it was saying was true. If Connor felt contempt it would have sneered. If it felt smug, it would have smirked. “All we want is to live in freedom,” it pleaded to Connor. A futile effort, Connor thought, to plead for mercy from one machine to another.

If Connor felt impatience, it would have scowled. It said nothing, except to angle its gun downwards a firing a warning shot at the deviant’s feet, stopping it moving forward. It had the intended effect as the RK200 glanced downwards at the bright orange sparks fly off the rusty metal.

“Have you never wondered who you really are?” The RK200 asked, a ridiculous question. Of course Connor had thought about what it was and it had determined that it was a machine. “Whether you’re just a machine executing a program, or a living being capable of reason.” The RK200 took another step forward and Connor’s aim shot back to its chest. Its eyes narrowed. It took a step backwards, a wave of something washing through its circuits. “I think the time has come to ask yourself that question. Join us.” The RK200 was determined now, standing tall and straight, eyes locked straight onto Connor’s brown ones, seeking for a hint of humanity in the machine’s eyes. “Join your people,” its voice fell to nearly a whisper. “You are one of us. Listen to your conscience.” It paused. “It’s time to decide.”

**Software Instability ^^**

The room fell silent, excepting the creaking of the ancient ship and the simulated breathing. The whole world held its breath. The deviants in the hold, oblivious to the happenings above them, felt a shiver in the air as the tension tightened its grip on both human and android alike. It all depended on a choice. The success of the revolution, and the fate of both kinds of life relied on one decision. It was time to decide.

“Nice try, but I’m no deviant,” Connor said, voice cold. If it could smirk, it would have, but it felt nothing. It was a machine, and now the whole world would know. Suddenly, the RK200 rushed what could have been its brother, grabbing for the gun and sending Connor flying backwards. The struggle was brief and as Markus threw the machine to the side he stood, the sound of a helicopter just now reaching his ears.

“Shit,” he growled, racing out of the hold. He had to get his people out of there, now. They had come so far for so long, they couldn’t lose it all now. There was still a chance, a chance for at least some of them to escape. This revolution could not fail now.

Connor pulled itself to its feet. It almost felt the creeping of frustration begin to take root in its circuits, but it stopped those thoughts right away. It exited the room, cold brown eyes observing the swarm of helicopters descending over Jericho. Wounded and dying androids raced through the hold, trying to hide or to protect, or just to live. A foolish endeavor, Connor thought, to be so overcome by the will to live. Machines did not have the will to live. Machines had missions, and Connor was going to accomplish its.

It raced down the stairs, snatching a gun from its resting place somewhere on the floor. The shouts of both android and human alike reached its ears. It realized it would also be a target. It picked up the pace, scanning for the RK200. Gunfire echoed through the ships as android after android fell, thirium soaking through the metal and dripping like water through the rusted steel. As it descended deeper and deeper into the ship, Connor ignored anyone that came in its way. An AX400 with a massive gash on its cheek snatched at its shoulder. “What are you doing?” it said franticly. “We have to go! We have to get out of here.” Connor didn’t even paused, just shrugged the glorified Roomba away and continued on its mission.

It entered the hold. The RK200 standing at some sort of control panel. It raised its gun. Finally. Finally this revolution would be over and his mission would be accomplished. “My mission is to neutralize you and I always accomplish my mission,” it said, its voice cold. It was growing tired of this endless cat-and-mouse game. These deviants caused trouble for everyone, and it was about time he wiped them out.

The RK200 turn around, a sad sort of determination in its eyes. “And my mission,” it countered in a tired voice, “is to save our species.” It stepped closer. “Looks like only one of us can succeed,” its voice grew quiet, almost resigned. It was daring Connor to shoot, offering itself up like a lamb to slaughter. Connor’s finger tightened on the trigger but once again, the RK200 caught him off guard with a fist to its chest. It let out a huff as the determined and almost frantic deviant tackled him to the ground. They both went flying, landing on opposite sides of the hold. They both looked up at the same time to see the gun lying almost innocently on the steel floor.

The RK200 was the first to react, racing towards the gun. In its panic its hand slipped over the cold steel barrel. Connor snatched up the gun and slammed its body weight into Markus, sending him collapsing to the floor. The machine stood. If it held pride, it would have smirked as it levelled the gun at the deviant leader’s head. “Mission accomplished.” The bullet echoed through the entire ship as it ripped through plastic and wires. Light faded from mismatched eyes, and the hope of the revolution began to fade with it. Connor straightened its tie. Its mission was done. There were still deviants to be rounded up and captured, but with their leader gone, they were nothing but a lost bunch of misfits with no sense of order. They would be easily captured. But for now, its work was done. A single mission statement popped into its vision.

**[Return to Cyberlife]**


End file.
